For a while, Caspian faded in and out of consciousness, remaining more often in the dark than in the state of half-wakefulness that he found less pleasant to endure. It was difficult to distinguish between what was real and what he’d conjured up in his mind after he’d fainted. At one point, he felt like he was being jostled in someone’s arms. The next few times he surfaced after that, he was lying on his side with his knees pulled to his chest in a confined space. Every time his hazy mind attempted to swim back up from the depths though, he was aware of an acute pain in the back of his skull that was discouraged him from fully returning to the land of the living.

He’d never participated in the military, and since he’d lived his whole life in the capital, the prince had never experienced an injury worse than a fractured wrist. He had far less fortitude than the men who soldiered on even if they left a trail of blood in their wake. Until now, he’d never needed the quality. All he was expected to do was sit back in the safety of the stronghold he called home and dole out orders to those who could handle the pain of executing his commands on the battlefield. Kings didn’t run to the frontlines to risk their own lives. So, when he finally stirred enough to escape the pit of unconsciousness that he’d been sinking in for who knew how long, it took him a while to orient himself.

He shifted against what felt like an old, wood floor, and a ragged groan escaped his lips. His head still pounded worse than any hangover he’d ever had, and the back of it felt wet with viscous liquid. Weakly, he tried to lift his hand to touch the spot, but the motion drew his other hand to follow, and he stopped, confused. Pausing to let himself wake up a little more, his dark eyes fluttered open, only to find that he was staring at a chain of metal bars. The sight didn’t give him any clarity into the situation, but it did make him more alert. He winced as his headache flared again and looked down at his hands, discovering that both were bound together at the wrists with rope. That explained why he couldn’t move freely.

[color=#b97703][i]Where am I?[/i][/color] he wondered dully, shifting his weight as he tried to sit up. Although his head hurt the worst, his body ached as well, as if he’d been tossed around like a sack of flour. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find that he was covered in bruises underneath his clothes. Once he managed to maneuver into an upright position, he raised both of his bound hands to investigate the wet spot on the back of his head. Upon touching it, the wound smarted, and he hissed through his teeth, glancing down at his fingers, which had come away coated in blood.

[color=#b97703][i]At least it’s mostly dry,[/i][/color] he thought with some relief, trying not to panic as he took in more of his surroundings. He had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there. The last thing he remembered was going out to the forest with Iris to look for her missing ID— Suddenly, his eyes widened as the rest came back to him at once. Iris was part of the Scourge. She must have done something once she’d had him alone, and now he was… well, wherever this cell was.

His heartbeat quickened in his chest, and his hands dropped to his hip as he rushed to active his emergency beacon, but his com device was gone. He held his breath nervously and checked his pockets for his phone, but that was gone too. The rebels must have looted his only means of contact while he’d been unconscious. [color=#b97703]“Damn it…”[/color] he muttered, wincing again as another surge of pain blossomed in the back of his head.